Lady of the Lake
by Followthebird
Summary: A jeweller arrives at Camelot bearing generous gifts for the King,and is invited inside the castle.   All kings are the same - he thinks with a sneer - and suspicious servants are easily taken care of.
1. Prologue

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**Hello, everyone :)**

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**This is only my third fic ever, and my very first Merlin fic which I am, of course, a more than a little excited about. I will only publish the next chapter (which I HAVE already written) if I get reviews, otherwise I'll give up and stop here – which would be a pity because for once I have a vague idea of where everything is going! ****Of course be nice in the reviews, but if you have any (constructive) criticism I would love that too. Any guesses or ideas about what will happen in the story are also welcome!**

**I know that the prologue is very small and doesn't give away much, so I will say this: it is typical Merlin. ****I hope you like it, and please review!**

******Disclaimer: Although I wish I did - with all my heart! - I do not own BBC or Merlin, only my original characters.**

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******PROLOGUE  
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The jeweller smiled smugly to himself, as he and his servant entered the gates of Camelot without so much as a second glance from the guards on duty – not that he had expected one. Being a portly man adorned with fineries and accompanied by a pretty servant girl had its advantages. Such an appearance was widely regarded as the very picture of good business, and Dougal had not yet been turned away from any city. The guards at Camelot were probably, like most others, under strict instruction from the King not to displease any such guests. _All kings are the same_, Dougal thought, grinning confidently and puffing out his chest as he strode through the marketplace and towards the castle. Kings were, without exception, blind to his blatant sycophancy, and foolishly hungry for the gold and jewels he had to offer.

He could already see the flash of yearning that would cross and disappear from Uther's face in an instant, to be masked by a welcoming smile. It was an expression all kings wore when they heard the word 'jeweller'. They were all the same, unable to resist the temptation of the beautiful items Dougal had to offer, or the elaborate tales of their discovery.

They had reached the castle, and Dougal nodded a warning at his servant. He needn't have – she was quite literally bound to him, by a thin silver chain around her ankle. She met his eyes with fright and stumbled a little as he tugged on the chain and stopped, outside the castle doors.

Dougal gave his introduction to the guards, who, at his request for a meeting with the King, sent a nearby servant to ask permission. The raven-haired young man had been listening keenly to Dougal as he spoke, his head at a strange kind of angle – had those blue eyes been staring with interest or suspicion? – Dougal wondered, his smile fading briefly. Whatever the look had had been, the boy was a mere servant, and servants were easily taken care of. Harmless. The jeweller rubbed his own servant on the back and felt her body stiffen at his touch, but the girl was obedient enough, fearful enough not to react in any other way. Dougal's pleased expression returned and he shifted the silver chain in his hand. Servants were easily controlled.

The boy soon reappeared, with invitation from the King. He peered past the guard at Dougal, who met his eye and smiled curtly. The boy gave a startled smile in return, and as Dougal passed by and was led towards the throne room, he could feel those two blue eyes on his back. But that didn't matter.

_The King had let him in._

_Kings were all the same._

_Some people,_ he thought with a sneer, _some people will do anything for a slice of wealth and power._


	2. Chapter 1

**Okay, I know I said that I wouldn't upload this if I didn't get any reviews, but... well I can see that the prologue isn't getting any despite lots of hits and visits :( ****I am a little worried people that people are losing interest (already!) because of the extremely short prologue - so here is the first chapter and I hope it will inspire some reviews. I think I should apologise now for the shortness of everything - my stories seem so long when I am writing them, but look feeble when I upload them here! Ah, well. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Although I wish I did - with all my heart! - I do not own BBC or Merlin, only my original characters.**

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**CHAPTER ONE**

"It's morning, Arthur, time to wake up," Merlin announced brightly, drawing the curtains. Fresh sunlight flooded the room in golden strands and cast itself daintily across the prince's restful blonde head – he hadn't stirred at Merlin's greeting.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, wake up you royal…" Merlin trailed off and searched the room for inspiration. "_Doorknob!_" He stood back and waited for the prince to rouse, then as an afterthought, darted forward and snatched away the bed sheets. Arthur grunted angrily at the sudden cold before rolling out of bed and stumbling to his feet. He rubbed his eyes on his shirtless arm and blinked wearily.

"Well, I'm awake now – _and_ freezing!" He hurled his pillow at Merlin, who dodged easily. "My God, you can be irritating when you want to be. On second thoughts, I bet you don't even have to try, do you Merlin?"

His servant smiled sheepishly.

"I have to try very hard, actually."

The second flying pillow barely missed him.

"What's the hurry, anyway? It's still early," Arthur scowled, shrugging on a shirt and disappearing behind the wooden divider to change his pants.

"You are such a child," Merlin scoffed in disbelief. "I have been up for hours already, running errands and working and –"

"Oh, that reminds me, polish my boots, won't you? They're by the window."

Merlin rolled his eyes and tugged off his red neck-scarf – he hadn't brought a rag to use, so it would have to do. He sat against the windowsill and began to polish the prince's leather boots, despite their already decent condition. Arthur emerged from behind the divider, dropped his pyjama bottoms absent-mindedly on the floor (Merlin bit his tongue) and wandered to stand beside his friend.

"That girl, there, next to the wealthy-looking fellow," he said after a brief look outside. "Does she remind you of anyone?"

Merlin looked up from the boots and followed Arthur's gaze down through the window to the courtyard. The King was standing outside with his guests, and the girl in question was the jeweller's servant, whom he had hardly noticed earlier that morning because her slender figure was swamped by her master's imposingly broad build. She seemed fragile – though anyone would when compared to Dougal, Merlin guessed – but also afraid, and she had a nervous air to match. Her blue eyes, partly hidden by a curtain of dark hair, darted as if frightened by the goings-on around her; and despite being delicately angular and pretty, her pale face was clearly too thin to be healthy.

"A little," he agreed. "Can't quite put my finger on who, though." He glanced at Arthur, suddenly aware and suspicious of the lopsided grin splitting the Prince's face. This was often an indication of an up and coming insult, and usually one directed at Merlin, so he bit his tongue and kept quiet. After a few moments filled only by the muffled squeak of neck-scarf polishing leather, Arthur turned to his servant expectantly, still grinning widely. Merlin rolled his eyes and sighed, unable to resist.

"Alright, fine," he succumbed, already regretting his curiosity. "Who does she remind you of?"

Arthur folded his arms across his chest and pulled a face in mock consideration. "She reminds me of –" he hesitated. "Actually, never mind."

"No, come on, who?"

"Well, Merlin, I was going to say she quite closely resembles you, to be honest," Arthur chuckled.

Merlin snorted to himself and returned his attention to polishing the boots.

"No, I'm serious!" Arthur protested, then wrinkled his nose as if he had thought of something particularly entertaining. "But then, I suppose you always have had a rather _girly _figure,haven't you, Merlin?"

"At least I'm not letting myself get out of shape," Merlin muttered under his breath, allowing himself a satisfied grin at the reaction he knew would follow his comment: though the Prince was not vain, as such, he took remarks about his physique with considerable weight.

"I heard that!" Arthur scolded as expected, an indignant and somewhat insulted expression now replacing his smirk. "And as I assured you last time, I am fighting fit!"

Merlin waved a dismissive hand in the Prince's direction.

"Whatever you say, Arthur. Now if we're finished admiring strangers, I really should get back to polishing your boots – it's good for my arms."

Gaping like a fish in open air, and irritated at his sudden loss for words, Arthur sputtered, "Royal _doorknob_ is not an insult!"

Merlin grinned indifferently and handed him the finished boots.

"Would you like me to put them on for you too?"

Arthur huffed and pulled out a chair. Glancing up while tugging on his now-spotless boots, he noticed Merlin dejectedly holding his red neck-scarf by a corner. It was smeared and stained with black polish. Knowing it would never wash out, the prince felt a pang of guilt.

"Have one of mine, Merlin," he said, getting to his feet and lifting a crisply folded, royal-issue 'kerchief from his clothing drawer. "I never wear them anyway."  
Merlin looked at him in surprise.

"It's fine, Arthur, I can get another-"

"Merlin, take it," the prince implored him. "I… I wasn't even serious about the boots… they were already clean," he paused. "And now, mainly because you are only obedient when I don't mean for you to be, your scarf is ruined. But it's my fault and I'm sorry. Please, take this."

The scarlet handkerchief remained in his outstretched hand as Merlin leaned forward and seemed to inspect it.

"That's very - uncharacteristically - kind and generous of you, Arthur. And thank-you, but…" He sat back and sighed, feigning disappointment. "Red's _really_ not my colour."

The prince gave his servant a cuff to the head and stormed off to the knights' arena to practice hurting something. But he was smiling.


	3. Chapter 2

**Phew. Well here is chapter two – I have surprised myself with how easily I managed to write this! I think I owe it to the people who bothered to review, who have said such kind things about the story so far. Thankyou!**

**In response to the reviews, I have to assure you that this will NOT be a Mary-Sue story! No need to panic about that, haha. Also, if anyone has an idea for a more suitable title either now or later on, when you know more about the story, that would be wonderful. As a lovely reviewer pointed out, there is already another fanfic with the same name. **

**Mainly though, thank you so much for the comments, they made me smile and I haven't stopped yet :) Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Although I wish I did - with all my heart! - I do not own BBC or Merlin, only my original characters.**

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**CHAPTER TWO**

After tidying Arthur's chambers and laying out a cooked breakfast for when he returned from training, Merlin made a beeline for Gaius' quarters to fetch himself something to eat – and though he was indeed hungry, his thoughts remained fixated on the jeweller he had seen and wondered about so much that morning. Gaius smiled at him as he entered and handed him a bowl of luke-warm soup, which seemed rather pathetic compared to the gourmet meal the Prince would be feasting upon. Merlin took the bowl in silence, then suddenly:

"Have you seen the castle guests?" he blurted.

Gaius frowned disapprovingly.

"You're welcome, Merlin."

Merlin looked at him in confusion, then smiled apologetically.

"Oh, sorry. Thank you," he said, dutifully gulping down a spoonful of the lumpy green liquid – which much to his surprise did not taste half bad. "Have you seen the castle guests?"

Gaius sighed at the boy's relentless curiosity. "The jeweller?"

"Yes, and his servant girl," Merlin nodded.

"What of them?"

Merlin hesitated, and his face seemed to contort with the difficulty of voicing exactly what. "The man, Dougal…" he struggled. "He just… he doesn't look quite right."

Gaius stared at him from beneath a slumped eyebrow as the other rocketed to a remarkable height, but did not interrupt his ward as he continued to stammer.

"He seems… He seems like… like a poor man dressed as a rich man," Merlin said finally, rushing the last part as though ashamed to say it. He gave a lengthy sigh and glanced up at Gaius.

The old man looked back at him, unimpressed. "Anything else?"

Merlin kept quiet.

"I must say, I'm a little surprised," Gaius said scornfully. "It's not like you to be so judgmental about someone based solely on their appearance. I had thought you better than that, Merlin."

Merlin blinked, a little hurt by the disapproval in the old man's voice – although he had guessed that his remark might be taken in such a way. He hung his head to stare at the table. It would have appeared that he was studying the wood in detail, if it weren't for the fact that his blue eyes were unfocused and absent. Merlin was fixated entirely on what he was about to reveal.

"There is something else," he said softly.

Gaius huffed and sipped from his soup bowl, now disinterested.

"And what might that be?"

Merlin took a breath.

"When I was near him this morning… I felt this strange feeling…"

Sudden concern flashed on Gaius' face. "You don't mean… a magic feeling?"

When Merlin nodded, Gaius quickly set his soup bowl down on the table and gazed at him intently, all scorn instantly forgotten.

"It was strange," Merlin muttered. "Like awful magic and good magic rolled into one."

Gaius considered this and seemed to realise something.

"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, Merlin. The witch-hunter at the gates is an old friend of mine. He does not turn anyone with magic over to the guards," he paused at Merlin's gape of disbelief. "Instead, he warns them of the death penalty and urges them to stay out of Camelot."

"The witch-hunter _helps _people with magic?" Merlin exclaimed. "Are we thinking of the same man?" He puffed his cheeks full of air and mimed a potbelly.

Gaius nodded, scratching his ever-thinning white hair and beginning to chuckle.

"He _helps _people?" Merlin repeated incredulously.

"Of course he gives _you_ a hard time, Merlin," Gaius spluttered, barely managing to keep from laughing at the boy's stunned expression – and, with even more difficulty, his imitation of the extremely overweight man. "He doesn't believe you should be in Camelot – he's told me countless times." He became serious, raising his hands as Merlin began to protest. "Calm down, Merlin. He only says such things because he believes your trusted position as the Prince's servant is a risky one. You would put many people under suspicion if you were to be caught."

"You don't think he will turn me in?"

Gaius shook his head fervently.

"Provided they are innocent and well-intentioned, he will never turn anyone in. Nor will he let them enter Camelot. That is why I don't think that Dougal is in fact using magic."

There was a silence as Merlin considered this. He was certain what he had felt was magic – that violent and angry shudder in the air that had radiated from the jeweller like heat from the sun. Then, once that had faded, Merlin had felt a sweet, familiar magic; so similar to his own that at first he feared he had cast some by accident. But that sense of magic, though weak, had also come from Dougal and his servant.

_His servant._

"Gaius, it could be the girl!"

The man sighed.

"You have misunderstood me, Merlin. What I said about the witch-hunter applies to the girl as well," he pursed his lips. "Besides, you think the _she _has magic? Be reasonable: a servant?"

Merlin looked at the physician pointedly, and a smile twitched on his aged and wrinkly lips.

"Ah. Point taken," Gaius said. "We may find out soon enough anyway – Dougal has requested an audience with the King so he may present him his gifts."

"When?"

The old physician's often sagging facial muscles seemed to spring into life all at once as a look of abrupt surprise crossed his face. With the clumsy panic of remembering something important, he became flustered and started to hurry aimlessly around the room.

"Goodness, it begins in only a moment! Hurry and eat your soup or we'll be late!"

But Merlin's hunger had left him, and he could not stomach any more. He set it hastily on the table and stayed a moment to watch the thick liquid swirl and slosh around the inside of the bowl, much like the unsettling turmoil of thoughts within the confines of his head.


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